When it Rains
by BrotherGideon
Summary: Chapter 4 finally up. An unholy union. Review please.
1. Prelude

When it rains....

Prologue

A man stood under a dim light post on the dark corner of a trash filled street. The moon overhead was hidden behind dark clouds that bore the signs of a storm. The night was hot and oppressively humid, yet he stood there in a heavy coat that fell

past his knees. He lifted a cigarette to his mouth and pulled out a small lighter. The soft _click click click_ of the igniter switch broke the heavy silence. The cigarette caught and the man took a short pull. He savored the smoke for a moment and then blew

a nimbus of smoke into the air. Thunder pealed in the distance and the man glanced up at the ominous sky.

"Shit." he muttered. A raindrop fell to the ground beside him. Then another onto a tin roof. Then the rain started in earnest. "I hate the rain." he muttered with a sigh. He took another pull of his cigarette and then tossed it aside. He pulled the collar of

his coat up and continued to stand under the dim light post.

It was true; he detested rain. He couldn't remember if it rained the day he was born; it would've explained a lot. It rained the day of his third birthday; the day they pulled his father out of his well earned retirement and returned him to Commissarial

duties. He'd fought thirty-five years to earn his right to settle and they took him back 'cause he was a _hero_. Mother was sad. Two and a half years later it rained the day his mother had gotten that miserable telegram from an Imperial Guardsman. His

father had been shot by a nervous sentry who mistook him for an enemy infiltrator. "It was raining, we couldn't tell." he'd said. A few weeks after that it rained when his mother had gone into the room she'd shared with his father, taken his old,

battered laspistol and blown the contents of her head all over the ceiling. He'd watched her through the keyhole of the door. She had smiled and said "I'm coming!". _Crack!_ New paint.

It rained the day the Schola Progenium people had come and taken him away. He wept. For three years they shuffled him through different scholas, never staying in one place for very long. They finally dropped him in a schola on a backwater

planet, seemingly tired of carting him around. The new kid in a competitive, hostile environment all over again. It rained the day the other kids decided to pick on him because he was small. One of them had called his mother a filthy whore, and when

the red haze cleared he'd broken the bully's jaw in three places and one of his hands. He was almost eight. After ten years of fake praying, singing, study, politics, training, fights, theft, and discipline he met Alyson. She was the new girl and they'd hit

it off right away when one of the bigger boys had copped a feel and had his eyes nearly clawed out. That had been gratifying to watch. They spent much time together; day and, when they could get away with it, night for almost a year. It rained the

day an Inquisitor had come and taken her away. He wept. It rained again not long after that when another Inquisitor came and selected him as an acolyte. He never fathomed why. The Inquisitor had taken one look at him and said "That one," and off

they went. The Inquisitor's name was Ursain and he'd made it very clear that he wasn't intent on taking any shit from his new protégé. He'd been bruised for weeks from that first beating. Once his new master had finished detailing his future role, his

slavery truly began.

Twelve years passed. Mental discipline, intrigue, etiquette, more politics, weapons training, demolitions, stealth operations, interrogations, wet work, firefights, murders, tortures, all in the name of an Emperor who had never been there. Now

this; a festering shit hole of city on some backwater planet he couldn't recall the name of, tracking a target for thirty-eight hours straight. And now it was raining?_ What the hell have I done to deserve this?_ he thought. He kicked the light post savagely.

The light flickered and then went out. It took all of his willpower not to scream. Just then his target walked out the bar he'd been languishing in for the last three hours.

The target was quite sober despite his valiant attempts at appearing otherwise. He stumbled about, crossed the street, and moved in to an alley. The man under the now dark street light followed. As he moved toward the alley he pulled an

autopistol from the recess of his coat and screwed a long cylindrical silencer to the barrel. He paused at the edge of the alley to consider the situation. The target was likely waiting for someone to step around the corner and the probability of there

being a particularly nasty consequence of doing so was not terribly appealing. The man holstered his pistol and walked to the opposite side of the building. He cast an appraising eye over the construction and noted that the stones were shoddily

placed, making ideal hand holds. After selecting his route he climbed the two story wall with an almost unnatural grace despite the heavy rain. Once he was on the roof, he moved toward the edge overlooking the alley. The ground was largely hidden

by the darkness, and the man reached inside his coat and pulled out a compact thermal amplivisor. Sure enough, his target was there waiting behind a refuse bin with a shotgun, poised and ready to make life miserable for anyone who followed him.

Without a second thought the man jumped off the roof. Depth perception was poor through the amplivisor so he had aimed of the crouching figure of the man. They collided with an audible _thump_. The man in the coat was up in a flash and ripped his

pistol out of his holster. He put a round in each of his target's knees and gave him a firm kick to the head.

With a grin he reached up to his ear and clicked his combead twice. "_Roger that, sending pickup,_" a voice said in his ear. "_ETA forty seconds._" The man picked up the limp body of his target and strode toward the entrance of the alley. A flash of

lightning illuminated the city and he saw a small anti-personnel mine rigged to trip wire. He whistled under his breath. Had he stepped around that corner earlier, he would've been a charred smear on the side walk right now. He dropped the body and

moved to disable the mine. Fortunately it was one he was familiar with and had it disarmed quickly. He pocketed the mine and collected the body. A large ground car pulled up and the side door slide open. He tossed the body inside and stepped in

after it. It occurred to him that he'd avoided the traditionally bad luck that accompanied rain. He laughed and lit up another cigarette. _Roric my boy_, he thought to himself. _Things are _finally _looking up. _

Back at the safe house, he tossed the prisoner in the basement, and walked up the stairs to the main floor with every expectation of some cold food, cold beer, and a warm bed. As he opened he found Montrose and Nikki waiting for him, which was a

pleasant surprise.

Montrose extended his hand and congratulated him. "Nice work Roric." Roric gave him a firm shake and a smile. Montrose was Ursain's personal psyker, and while he seemed affable, the man was an absolute terror in combat. Roric had seen him

pulp men with a snap of his fingers.

"Yes, hurrah for little Rory." Nikki laughed. She knew that he loathed the pet name but she was gorgeous and the scandalous outfit she was wearing made it easy for him to forget his annoyance. She was, officially, Ursain's infiltration specialist.

Unofficially, she did... other things. With that body of hers, coupled with a stunning IQ, she had brought down quite a few very powerful men, and on a single occasion, a very powerful woman. The woman had turned out to be a Slanneshi cultist, so it

wasn't terribly surprising that Nikki had managed to lure her in. Nikki was also a murderer in close combat. She playfully ruffled his hair, and he gave her a pinch and they all laughed. Roric moved on into the corner of the room that was serving as their

kitchen. He grabbed a cold grox steak out of the refrigerator unit and ripped a chunk our of it with his teeth. He also grabbed a bottle of the weak local beer, which he drank regularly. He carried both of his acquisitions into the dining area where he

found Liam tinkering with his favorite bolt pistol. Liam glanced up.

"How'd the new gun do?" he asked.

"Only fired two shots, but the thing's light and it's easy to conceal. I still prefer metal though. The ceramite ones chip. Too delicate." Roric took out the gun and set it on the table.

"Well it's a stealth gun. Detectors won't pick it up, doesn't flash like a las, and you never have to clean it. You're gonna have to learn to deal with it, so quit bitching." Liam picked up the gun and ejected the magazine. He racked the slide and caught

the bullet as it came out. "How'd the bullets do?"

"Good; I checked the wounds. They expanded nicely on impact. That bastard will never walk again." Roric smiled. Out of all the members of Ursain's retinue, he was closest to Liam. Liam was Ursain's weapons expert, in every sense of the word.

There wasn't and Imperial weapon in the galaxy that he couldn't take apart, clean, assemble, and fire blindfolded. He also had a decent understanding of some Xeno weapons. He had "bullets on the brain" as Montrose liked to say. Liam was also an

excellent marksman and had been deployed on a number of assassinations by Ursain. When Roric had first joined the Inquisitor's retinue, Liam had watched out for him, and taught him everything he knew about weapons. Despite being twenty years

his junior, Roric had developed a brotherly bond of trust with Liam. The four of them, plus Ursain himself, made up the combatants of the team.

Inquisitor Alexov Ursain was a potent psyker capable of defeating most enemies with the powers of his mind alone, and if that wasn't enough, he had his artificer crafted hammer, _Death Wreaker_, to solve any problems that required a less

intellectual approach. Despite his prowess, his style of combat limited his number of options on the battlefield. He had trained Roric to avoid these limitations, creating a deadly "_Jack of all Trades_" in the process. Roric wasn't as good as the other

specialists, but he could do things they couldn't. Most things any way. Roric had little psychic potential, which was fine by him. He respected Montrose and Ursain, but he preferred to keep his mind warp-free.

Roric's train of thought was derailed as a loud klaxon went off in the communications room. Roric dropped his steak and Liam holstered his pistol as they both hurried toward the source of the noise. Montrose and Nikki were already in the room

when they arrived and Montrose was busy hitting buttons on a control lectern. The screen on the wall flickered to life and encryption codes began to flash across it. When the encryption sequence had finished the screen went blank for a moment and

then the words _Priority Level: Vermillion_ filled the screen. A short coded message followed which Montrose read aloud. "Congratulations on wining the pot. Ten, Jack, Queen, King, along with Deuce, are being put back in the deck. Dealer will shuffle.

Players are **ALL IN**."

"Looks as if we're needed on the ship," said Montrose. "Nikki, call the spaceport and tell them we need our shuttle prepped for launch. You've taken ill from the close proximity of the swamp and feel that our vacation would be better spent

elsewhere." Montrose turned and addressed Roric and Liam. "You two gather our equipment and the trash in the basement. We've got fifteen minutes."

Roric nodded and gulped the rest of his beer and went with Liam to break camp. Nikki was already on the vox with spaceport authorities moaning about her condition and asking sweetly if they could prep the ship ASAP. Montrose wiped the data

from the safe house computers and went to collect the armored limousine they used as part of their cover. By the time Nikki had finished on the vox, Roric and Liam had packed the team's gear and loaded it in the limo. They turned and went back to

collect the prisoner. The prisoner was conscious now and not the least bit pleased about his treatment. He voiced his complaints and Roric gave him another firm kick to the head. The prisoner slept once again and they hauled him up the stairs and

tossed him into the limo's trunk. Montrose tossed Liam the keys, and Liam turned on the repulsers. They pulled out of the garage and sped off into the night. When they were a safe distance away, Liam opened his window, held out a remote, and

flicked a switch. There was a distant _whump_ as the safe house disappeared in a ball of flame and pulled into the spaceport with four minutes to spare. Their shuttle was running its final takeoff routines and Nikki voxed in to the control

tower to thank them for their alacrity. Liam expertly sped up the ramp into the cargo hold, and closed the shuttle's ramp remotely. They pilled out of the limo and made their way to the cockpit. Montrose keyed the coordinates into the ships

navigational computer and the pilot servitors launched the ship. The four took their seats and exchanged pleasantries as the ship made its way out of the atmosphere and toward the dark side of the planet's second moon. They moved into the

Inquisitorial ship _Invisible Hand_ and landed in the stygian darkness of its launch bays. The bay doors closed and the _Hand, _along with the team, sped away from the planet, whose inhabitants they had saved from a singularly awful fate.


	2. Chapter 1 A Storm Gathers

A Storm Gathers

Roric's body was aching and drenched in sweat. His shirt was a torn bloody ruin and he ripped the remaining rags off. One of his floating ribs was broken and it pained him immensely. He had great bruises across his back and torso, and his right

eye was rapidly developing a shiner. Something, or someone, had evidently pissed Alexov Ursain the hell off.

Roric had felt the first tremors of anger during the Inquisitor's personal interrogation of the prisoner. They had just come from a short debrief, and then it was right to the interrogation. He had bid Roric to come watch and learn some new

techniques. Roric had watched in silence as his master had broken everyone of the man's fingers, then his toes, hands, feet, arms, legs, ribs, and Ursain hadn't even started asking questions. He had walked in, taken off his coat, and gone right to

work. _Snap, crack, crunch,_ went the grisly tune, and all the while the man howled and moaned and begged for death. "_Someone took the old bear by the balls_," he thought.

When Ursain had finally finished working him over, he had said one word, "Who?"

"Gracen!" the man had screamed. "Baron Gracen! He has the governor 's ear! _Kill me please oh emperor please kill me please,_" he whimpered, much like an abused dog Roric had thought. Ursain had looked Roric right in the eye and smiled. The old

bastard _smiled_.

"We have our man." he said. Roric had tremendous respect for his master, but he failed to suppress a look of disgust. That had taken the smile off the old man's face and replaced it with a disappointed frown. "We will spar tonight, you and I," was

all he said. Roric broke from his musings and concentrated on his more immediate problems. The lights were on a disorienting flash cycle that skewed his perception of speed and depth. A sound recording from a battle between an Imperial Guard force

and a Chaos warband from the sound of the screams roared out of the loudspeakers and echoed off the bulk heads rendering his sense of hearing all but worthless. He could smell the ozone coming off his master's powermaul, but he remained

undetected due to the flashes. The only thing Roric had to his advantage was his lack of shoes, which he had kicked off when the flashing had started in the hopes of being able to feel the vibrations of his master's booted steps. So far it had work

admirably, and Ursain bore two shallow cuts where Roric had scored glancing blows with an archaic bladed dueling weapon his master had called a _main gauche_. The blade was old, likely a ceremonial piece, but its edge was razor sharp. Roric had

possessed a similarly old sword but it had been shattered by a blow from the powermaul, and wielding the small dagger by itself was proving a challenge.

Roric felt a series of vibrations coming from his seven 'o clock and dove forward. None too soon as it turned out when Ursain's weapon crashed down where he had been standing. Roric came up from his defensive roll and pivoted on his left foot.

Now he was facing his master and pressed the attack. He chose a desperate diving lunge in the hopes his master was similarly disoriented. Ursain saw the lunge coming and moved his powermaul in a low sweep, hoping to intercept the blow. Roric

changed his attack in the midst of his dive and planted his unoccupied hand on the floor. He used the strength of his arm and his momentum to execute forward flip over his master's sweep, and planted both of his heel in Ursain's chest. He felt a

crunch and Ursain was sent stumbling. Roric rebounded enough to land on his feet and he pressed his advantage, moving his blade in a tight figure eight pattern desperately trying to keep his master off balance. Ursain recovered quickly and grabbed

Roric arm in mid swing. He pulled him forward and gave him a vicious headbutt, which sent Roric reeling back. He lost his footing and fell hard to the ground. Roric made no motion to rise, and Ursain clicked off his powermaul.

"End sequence!" he shouted over the din of the recorded combat, which abruptly terminated. The only sound that filled the training room now was the labored breathing of two bloody men.

"Heh. Broke one of my ribs with that flip move of yours, boy." He laughed, his anger used up in the heat of combat. "Made you pay for it though." Roric managed an amused sort of snort, which sent a spray of blood out of his nose.

"Yes well, you broke one of my ribs and my nose, so we aren't exactly tit for tat are we?" Ursain laughed again. Roric finally managed to stagger to his feet, and gingerly touched his nose in an attempt to assess the extent of the damage.

"Well we're both going to see the good doctor, so I'd say that's even enough." Ursain moved to collect his own shirt which he had taken off before they had started. Roric looked at his master's muscular form. Inquisitor Ursain was in his early

seventies, but his stamina and physique spoke of someone a quarter of that age. He had no visible augmetics but Roric knew there were internal ones. No normal heart beat in his chest, or normal lungs give him air, and Roric was sure there were

others. Barring a battlefield death, Inquisitor Ursain would most likely outlive him and his non-existent children. Roric snorted again and moved to collect his ruin of a shirt, and other effects. He highly doubted that Inquisitor Alexov Ursain would want

to be in a bed when he finally died. He took a drink from his field canteen and pulled a cigarette out of its box. He flicked his lighter open and took a long slow pull. Ursain cast a sidelong glance at him.

"Now come on boy, we both know that those make my lungs act up," he chastised.

"With all due respect milord, we both know that's grox shit," Roric said. Ursain chuckled.

"Watch your self, boy, or I swear I'll beat you bloody." They both laughed at that. Roric pulled on his boots, and the two made their way to the medical wing, where the doctor gave them a tongue-lashing that would've made a R.I.P instructor

proud. First disposed of the cigarette, then he set Roric's rib and put two titanium screws in it to keep it from moving. Then his nose was set and patched, and he was given a bag of ice for his head, which had the mother of all headaches.

"So what had you so pissed in the first place. Emperor but you made that poor sod suffer." Roric really didn't care about the poor sod, but he wanted to know all the same. Ursain threw up his hands in annoyance.

"I knew it was Gracen from the start, and I chased that sneaky bastard for months just so he could tell me what I already knew," he sigh in exasperation. "I could've taken out the source of the problem months ago but the higher ups wanted

adequate proof before I went and executed a high ranking bureaucrat. Now he likely knows we're after him and he'll disappear, then its back to searching for leads." Ursain looked at Roric hard for a moment. He seemed to confirm something within

himself and stood up and cleared his throat. "How long have you been my acolyte?" he asked. The doctor immediately left.

Roric shrugged. "I imagine it'll be close to thirteen years soon. I haven't really kept track." Twelve years, three hundred and twenty seven days Standard. He'd kept track. On the outside, he kept his face totally neutral. Inside his mind was racing. __

Why is he asking me this now? Is he transferring me? _Is he casting me off?_

"In that time you have served me well. You have done what I have asked, you have followed orders, you have done terrible things in the name of the Emperor without so much of a pause. In all you, you have been a great service to His Holy

Inquisition, and to the Ordos Hereticus," he paused, seemingly to gather some appropriate words. "However, your time with me and the rest of the team has come to an end. I have submitted your name and application, to become a full Inquisitor."

Roric was dumbstruck for a moment.

"Wait warp-blasted second," he said. "Most acolytes serve for at least fifteen years and that's only the one percent of the immensely talented. Normal acolytes can serve upwards of thirty before becoming Inquisitors. There are ranks, and

protocols, and-" Ursain cut him off.

"The Inquisition does not have a ranking system like the Guard does. As long as you have the blessing of three Inquisitors or a single High Inquisitor you can be made into one of us. Granted you are correct about the fact that most serve much

longer than you have. Consider yourself in that one percent. The last several missions you've been sent on were tests, culminating with the capture of this specific heretic." he paused to let Roric absorb what was being said. "Your assassination of

Planetary Governor Lupus kept an entire sub sector of the Segmentum Obscurus from falling to the Ruinous Powers, again. The man was an arch heretic and was planning on staging a great revolution that would engulf myriads of planets for decades.

Your investigation on Sempris Minor led to the uncovering and destruction of not only a powerful heretic cult, but the daemonhost that was leading them. The success of your current mission, despite my opinion of its futility, will be instrumental in

brining down a powerful revolutionary and saving the Imperium countless lives and resources. Your actions in your own view have seemed trivial but they have effected the Imperium on a massive scale."

"How is it possible that I wouldn't know all of this?" Roric asked. He kept his tone neutral but his face betrayed his skepticism.

"I've kept the entire team in the dark. None of them knew that their actions were going to have such tremendous results. It was all part of the test, which you aced." Roric stared hard at the man who been his master for the last twelve years. The

man had taught him everything he knew. He had protected him. He had shaped him into, among other things, a man. In a twisted sort of way, Inquisitor Ursain was the father he'd never had. Roric suppressed a smile. "_The man nearly killed you ten_

minutes ago and yet you think of him as a father? Roric, my boy, what the hell is wrong with you?" Roric slid off the table he had been sitting on. "I understand. You really think I'm ready for this?"

"I'm not senile yet boy," Ursain growled. "If I didn't think you were ready we wouldn't be having this conversation. You'd still be planet side in that toilet of a city."

"How long before we find out?" Roric asked. Given the way that the Administratum generally handled things, it was likely to be months before they found out anything.

"About three Standard days. I've got a feeling that the Administratum will speed this particular request along. Requisitioning kit and destroying planets isn't the only thing the Inquisitorial Seal allows us to do." With that, Ursain turned on his heel

and walked out of the room. Roric smiled as he listened to the fading sound of Ursain's boots ringing off the metal floor. When he could no longer hear them he grabbed his cigarettes and walked out of the treatment room and turned the opposite way

Ursain had, back toward the training room. The lights flicked on automatically as he entered. A control lectern flipped down out of one of the walls and Roric keyed his entry code. The front panel of the wall slid away, revealing an arsenal of weaponry.

Roric pondered the weapons for a moment. There were las guns of every kind, flamers, shotguns, autoguns, heavy caliber dueling pistols, bolters, sniper rifles, stubbers, and several Xeno weapons. Roric picked up an beautifully crafted shuriken

pistol that Ursain had taken from an Eldar Banshee. He fiddled with it a moment, trying to find the trigger. There was a pop and a whistling sound as his finger slipped over it and a monomolecular disk shout out. Roric carefully placed it back on its

stand and moved further down. He came to the close combat weapons, and admired their deadly beauty.

There swords and knives of every kind resting in display cases or on simple stands. There were Eldar swords, Kroot knives, Ork choppas, chain swords, eviscerators, powerfists and myriads of different human weapons from around the Imperium.

Roric looked over some of the more exotic weapons for a moment and then his eyes rested on something unusual.

At the far end of the arsenal was an eight foot long metal box, cover with purity seals. Roric was puzzled. He'd never seen it before and he had been through the arsenal multiple times. He suspected it was a recent acquisition, most likely from a

private mission of Ursain's, which was nothing out of the ordinary. Many times after Ursain had completed a mission on his own, he had taken trophies from vanquished enemies or mementos from fallen comrades. Roric took a closer look at some of

the seals. They were written in High Gothic, and though he was perfectly fluent in High Gothic, the type of style and construction of the text was unlike anything he had ever seen. He could see that it was a derivative of High Gothic, many of the same

roots being present, and that it must have been an obscure dialect of the language. As he poured over the seals, he uncovered something odd. At the top of one of the larger seals was a date. The seal was old and the parchment had yellowed but

the writing was still largely visible. _Sein Heilig Kreuzzug, 29,999_. Roric gazed wide-eyed at the date: 999.M29. M29 was the millennium in which the Great Crusade had begun, meaning that this box pre-dated the rediscovery of the Primarchs. Someone

had sealed this box over ten thousand years ago.

Roric smoothed the folded corner of the parchment with his hand, trying desperately to find another clue.

"_I feel you mortal..."_ The words echoed in Roric's mind. Horrified, Roric removed his hand as if he had suffered a burn. "_I feel your life force... your soul...your mind is untainted...release me._"

"No! Get out of my head daemon! You'll not have my soul!" Roric shouted.

"_RELEASE ME!_" the voice roared. Roric fell to his knees screaming, blood trickling out every orifice on his face. Images of places he had never seen, people he had never known, flashed in his mind. Time held no meaning. He saw green fields being

sown with crops and watched them turn to battlefields strewn with corpses, great cities rising from the earth and then burning down in an instant. The cycle repeated over and over again, faster and faster. The images became a blur and then he saw

them; two great eyes, filled with fire, boring into the depths of his soul. The voice spoke softly in his head. "_In time, Roric, we will break this galaxy's back. Not yet though. Now you must sleep. When you receive your power take me, and I will make you great_

among men."

Roric pitched forward on to the floor, unconscious. A chuckle came from the box as a small bolt of red lightning shot out of it. The bolt hit Roric square in the back and left a discreet rosy pink burn. His arms pushed his body off the floor, and his knees

slid underneath him. His eyelids snapped open. A voice not unlike his own came from his mouth.

"Millennia of bidding my time, and look what drops into my lap; a human. I had hoped for an Eldar, but the ones that beg aren't the ones that choose I suppose." His hands felt and probed his body. "Male by the feel of things. Recently damaged,

but repaired in an efficient fashion. Very fit, very strong. A useful vessel for Nakir." Roric's eyes rolled back in to his head for a brief moment. A smile broke Roric's face.

"Calculating, logical, intuitive, highly intelligent, and merciless. Well versed in many forms of combat, both close quarters and firearms. Exceedingly adaptable fighting style. Above average marksman. First hand knowledge of explosives and their

various uses. Cursory training in poisons, but finds them slightly distasteful. Capable of using torture, blackmail, sex, intimidation, murder, rape, and kidnapping, but rarely finds need to use such methods." His eyes rolled back a second time.

"Father died when he was five, mother committed suicide three weeks and two days later, raised at various orphan schools until the age of 8. Savagely beat a fellow student for an insult. Met a young woman a decade later. Developed a

relationship, had intercourse four times. Female taken by another male. Depression, failed suicide. Taken himself by another male soon afterward. Twelve years of slavery, acquired unique skills. Hates...rain?" His hand reached up and scratched his

head.

"Why do you hate the rain I wonder." Nakir reviewed what he had been able to learn from his intrusion. "Ah, almost missed that bit. It's been millennia so you will have to forgive me, dear Roric." Nakir, or rather the body of Roric, laughed.

"Oh, this one has a good laugh." Nakir experimented for several minutes, testing different styles of laughter. When he had found something suitably dark to his liking, he tested the motor functions. He found that he could control the body

sufficiently enough to walk, so he made his way to Roric's room. The place, a ship he surmised, was large but fortunately, Roric's memories had provided him a detailed layout. As he walked, Nakir was shocked to find that he had pulled out a cigarette

and started to smoke. Nakir took cigarette from his mouth and laughed again. Out of the corner of his/Roric's eye he saw a humanoid shape step out of a room along side him. The shape turned out to be a stunningly beautiful female wearing

absolutely nothing. _Nikki_; the name fit the memory. She had a piece of cloth in her hands and, Nakir assumed from the way she was rubbing her head with it, that she was drying it off.

_ "Roric's mate perhaps?" _he thought. She had shoulder length auburn hair, bright emerald eyes that seemed to burn. Nakir began to survey the rest of the female's body, taking note of the various physical aspects, but was abruptly stopped when

he was hit in the face by the towel she was holding. He considered pulling her arms off but something restrained him.

"Not polite to stare, Rory, especially when you're mouth is hanging open," she said playfully. Nakir felt Roric's face burn, which was odd considering he had no reason to be embarrassed. "Holy Throne! What happened to your face?"

"What? My face?" Nakir put on the best puzzled expression he could manage. It worked evidently as Nikki took the towel and started whipping his face with it. Nakir saw the reason for her concern a moment later when the towel was pulled away.

_My mental transfer must've caused this,_ he thought. "Just some sparring."

"Roric your ears are bleeding, and blood his coming out of your tear ducts. Aren't you in pain?" she was rapidly growing more agitated, or 'concerned' as a human would have called it.

"Pain?" It had been nearly ten thousand years sense he had felt something even close to that. Nikki's eyes narrowed.

"Have you been drinking?" she asked. Nakir smiled, and Roric's body shrugged without being prompted. Nakir found the motion unsettling.

"Nope, just had some fun in the training room, and now I think I've found some more." Nakir reached out with Roric's hands in attempt to grab the woman. It had been ages since he had fun of any sort, and the female looked appetizing. The

female clearly wasn't to pleased with the notion and she drove her knee in between his legs. Nakir was aware of a very distant ache, and glanced down.

"Warp, you've been drinking hard." Nikki grabbed him by his hair and pulled him into the room she had exited, which looked like a personal sanitation facility to Nakir. As he was allowing himself to be pulled, Nakir caught his first look at the physical

appearance of Roric's body. Short black hair, and cold, pale blue eyes that reminded him of ice were set in a bloody but good looking face. Several scars marked the face, but really just added to the charisma of it. His vessel clearly hadn't shaved in the

last several days. Rugged is how a female would've described it, Nakir assumed. Nakir was broken out of his observation as his head was plunged into water, which while not terribly bothersome to him, would've registered just above freezing to any

human. Oddly enough, however, Nakir felt his control begin to slip. It suddenly struck him that he hadn't actually possessed Roric's body in the traditional sense. He had merely used it as a temporary vessel while Roric's conscious mind was

suppressed. Unnoticed to Nikki, a small spark of red shot out of Roric's hand and into a wall. Nakir could wait three more days, it made no difference to him.

Roric's survival instincts kicked in as his consciousness reasserted itself. He could feel a hand on the back of his head, the frigid water, and his lung burning for lack of air. He lashed out with his right arm, but it was caught and penned behind his

back. Just when he thought he would lose consciousness again, his head was yanked up out of the freezing water. He gasped for air.

"Thinking clearly yet?" said a feminine voice. Roric recognized it as Nikki's.

"Nikki, what the fuck is going on!?" he shouted. Nikki pushed him away.

"I could ask the same," she said with a hint of amusement. "You're not normally a hard drinker, so this is admittedly strange."

"Drinking? What are you talking abou-" Roric stopped mid sentence as the worst pain he had ever known erupted in his groin. The wave a nausea that him was so strong that he dry heaved for several moments. He staggered to a wall and slid

down to the floor clutching the abused area. He saw Nikki trying to suppress smile. "Bitch," he mumbled.

Nikki laughed. "Look but don't touch." Roric then noticed that she was wearing no clothing. One of the only rules the men of team followed, and apparently he had unknowingly broken it. The problem was Roric couldn't remember breaking it. The

last thing he could remember up until this point was...the voice. Horror gripped him momentarily. Nakir. He remembered the name the voice had called itself. Roric slowly got to his feet.

"I've got no clue what was in that liquor I drank," he lied. "Probably something I'm not use to. Anyway, I apologize trying to force myself on you. Friends?" He held out his hand. Nikki smiled and shook his hand.

"It's nicer to ask anyway. Normally you'd get a yes, but seeing as you're drunk, and certain parts of you are out of commission, there will be no fun tonight." She tossed him a wink and walked out.

"_Roric my boy, you're in deep shit." _he thought.He stumbled his way back to his quarters and dropped heavily on to his bed. In the darkness of his room, Roric began to contemplate the nightmare he

was in.


	3. Chapter 2 A Deal with a Devil

A Deal with a Devil

Two days passed like a decade. Roric woke up both mornings to Nakir's voice and went to bed both evenings the same way. The mornings were the worst.

"_Let's talk_," Nakir would say and Roric would try his best to shut him out. Despite his efforts however, Nakir would keep right on talking. It had startled him rather badly the first time. He had heard the voice inside his head and looked around his room to find the source. Nakir had explained that because of his earlier possession, they shared a telepathic link. After several hours he had gotten used to the constant stream of talk ringing about in his head, which frightened him even more than the fact that there was a voice in his head. Nakir had gotten tired of being ignored after the first day had passed.

"_I understand that this must seem extremely odd, that you must be shocked into silence and all, but its been twenty four hours now and I would like to get down to business."_

"No." Roric had said aloud.

"_Come now, you are being extremely rude. You haven't even listened to what I have proposed and yet you adamantly reject it. Do you even understand what I'm offering?"_

"I imagine it's along the lines of '_Sell me your soul for absolute power,_' and despite your promises, I like my soul where it's at." Roric had spoken with a confidence he had not felt, but the daemon seemed to have bought it, or so he had thought. The damned voice had started chuckling and said an interesting thing.

"_Who says it's your soul I'm after? One soul doesn't do me a bit of good, and taking yours seriously compromises the quality of your body. I'm more interested in your uses than your soul. To be honest I'm not really interested in taking souls. I have other plans."_ Roric had remained silent the rest of the day after that. Nakir had pestered him all the next day and night with his endless prattle.

******

Roric woke from a troubled sleep looked at the clock set in the wall. Day three was just beginning, and right on schedule Nakir's voice invaded his consciousness.

"_I really must protest about your behavior. I expected a bit of resistance in the first place, but now you're just being hard to get along with. If you do not start listening to reason, I will be forced to take harsher actions. Don't think that you have to be near the box for me to harm you." _Nakir sounded very much like an annoyed tutor.

"Perhaps if you would grace me with some of the details of this little plan of yours' I would be further inclined to listen. So far you've been extremely vague. In fact, I don't think you've once mentioned about what I would get out of this, not that I'll accept your offer anyway." Roric said. Roric felt quite pleased with himself, when Nakir pulled the Emperor out of his sleeve.

"_What do you get out of this? Why, freedom of course. That ship that's on it's way here? It is not bearing your commission as an Inquisitor. In fact, you were never even considered for the position," _ Roric broke out in a cold sweat at those words. "_Surely you know that there are some more radical elements of the Inquisition who use Chaos to fight it. Daemon weapons, penitent psykers, daemonhosts; tools in an arsenal for their use. You were to be made a daemonhost for me. At least that was the original deal. They've reneged and I am none too pleased about it."_

"Was Ursain part of this deal?" Roric's heart hammered inside his chest. The voice chuckled again.

"_Let me show you."_ Nakir said, and Roric was certain he was suppressing a laugh. Images flashed by in his mind. He saw Ursain, but younger. He was standing in a courtyard reviewing a regiment of guardsmen. Liam and Montrose were also there. He called out a name, and a man stepped forward. The image of the courtyard changed. It resolved itself into a picture of the same man strapped to a table, his chest cavity ruptured.

_"Another failure,"_ a voice said. "_Ursain, why do you keep bringing us failures? Nakir must have a proper body if he is to help us." _The image changed again. A scene similar to the first happened. Again the same image of a person strapped to a table, dead. The scenes were repeated with some variations but the result was always the same: a corpse strapped to a table. Nakir's voice chimed in.

"_Ursain has been doing this for six decades,_" he said. "_Six decades of searching your Imperium for the perfect vessel for me. Six decades of failure. Now he's finally found one: you. A pity that his success will be his downfall. You see, I went into this deal with the goal of having a permanent vessel with which I could do as I pleased in the Materium. At the time when they approached me, I had been psychically repressed in that box for a little over ten millennia, so naturally I jumped at the idea to be free. The Inquisitors agreed to my freedom, as long as I did a favor for them every once in awhile, and set about searching. However, about thirty eight years ago I made a discovery. They were going to use me as a weapon! A tool!" _Nakir muttered something in a horrible tongue that made Roric's ears ring. "_I was furious, as you can imagine, but I could not do a thing about it, lest I tip them off. I continued to bide my time, and then you came along, which leads us back to the present._"

"How did you get on the ship?" asked Roric.

"_I convinced the cabal of inquisitors who handled me that it would be more efficient to carry me to the subjects rather than the other way around. They agreed with a small amount of prodding. My prison was placed aboard this vessel, and the rest is history._" Nakir chuckled again.

"What about the others? Does the rest of the team know about this?" Roric hoped that they were as ignorant as he was. He could hardly bare the thought of another such betrayal.

"_Based on what I've gathered from your memories and those of the previous failures, I know that the psyker you call Montrose and your 'friend' Liam were hand picked for the assignment with full knowledge of the nature of their mission. Nikki came on as Ursain's private whore and later as a lure for prospective male candidates. A quite effective lure, I might add._" Nakir paused and then started to laugh hysterically. "_I thought my betrayal was bad, but you've got me beat here. Everyone you've known for past twelve years has been manipulating you, most of what you've been told is a lie, and to top it all off, the man you looked on as a father thinks you are less than worm." _ Nakir laughed even louder than before. Roric lay in his bed, mulling over the recent, and catastrophic turn events. He weighed his few options for several moments. Damning himself wasn't as hard as he had thought.

"Let's talk," he said, and Nakir's laughter abruptly stopped. "I'll listen to this deal of yours."

"_Excellent, you've seen reason. I propose a mutual partnership between us. We coexist within one body, and one mind; a symbiosis if you will. I get my freedom from that damned box as well as my revenge, and you get immeasurable power along with whatever type of revenge you can think of. My only condition is that you treat me as a partner, not a tool, and to allow me to experience the Materium in a way that agrees to the both of us. Sound fair?"_

"Not yet. I have some conditions as well. I'd like the physical mutation kept to a minimum. You are not to take control of my body unless I allow it: I won't have you abusing it whenever you feel like it. I'd also like our personalities and thoughts to remain as separate as possible. Neither of us can be of any use to the other if I am a gibbering wreck. If you have plans, I want to know them. I will not be manipulated anymore. Lastly if this partnership leads to me becoming a psyker, I want your help in learning to control that power, and I want other daemons kept away. If you violate any of these conditions, I'll turn myself over to the Inquisition, and then its back into a box for you. Fair?"

"_Fair enough, although I can't really teach you about what comes to me as naturally as breathing comes to you. You'll need outside help."_

"We'll worry about it later then. Do we have a deal?"

"_Deal."_ Nakir chuckled.

"Enough with the damned chuckle!" Roric shouted. "It's pissing me off."

_"Fine. Ah, I almost forgot. You have to go along with Ursain's little plan until they remove me from my prison. That involves you being strapped to that table you saw. I am confident that it shouldn't be a problem to get free once I fully connect to your soul,_" Nakir started to chuckle, but then stopped. "_I also advise that you not speak aloud when we have our conversations. It makes you look a bit unhinged. Merely think the words and I will understand them."_

"Sure thing, partner." Roric wasn't entirely sure he liked the sound of that, but it was far too late now.

******

The rest of the day passed without the usual conversation, and Roric spent his time going over the possibilities and dangers of his deal. It was certainly preferable to being used as a daemonhost, but in essence he was voluntarily becoming the same thing. He had no idea if Nakir would hold to the conditions he had laid out, and Roric knew that he certainly wouldn't be able to stop him if Nakir decided not to. Roric was still brooding when the ship's alarms started blaring. The other ship had arrived.

"_Ah, this reminds me of a deal I made ages ago," _Nakir said with an air of nostalgia. "_Something about time running out and tolling bells or some such nonsense. In any case these bells herald the beginning of a new deal instead of an ending. I'm looking forward to this...partner." _Roric rolled out of his bed and dressed hastily. He needed to look normal if he was going to keep this charade up. He took his cigarettes and his favorite black storm coat from his closet. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed his knife. He examined it closely. He had crafted the deadly thing by hand after learning how to do so on Catachan. "_One hell of a year that was." _he thought with a smile. He held it in a relaxed fighting posture, feeling the weight in his hand. He flipped it from hand to hand, reveling in its perfect balance. All of the sudden, a delightful plan entered his head. He slid the knife into its hidden sheath in his coat and left his room.

He ran along the ships corridors until he came to Nikki's room. He knocked softly on the door. There was a click as the lock slid back. The door opened inward a few inches.

"Its 0200. What do you want?" Nikki said with a yawn.

"I've got something important to tell you. Can I come in?" Roric said with an innocent smile. He watched Nikki's face change from mild annoyance to intense curiosity.

"Sure, come on in Rory," She opened the door the rest of the way and Roric stepped inside. He glanced around the room, which was a penthouse compared to his. He looked at Nikki, who was placing an autopistol back in its hiding place. She was wearing a pure white bathrobe. She turned to face him. "So what's up? And it had better be damned good for waking me up at this hour." She placed her hands on her hips and stared at him with an amused look on her face.

"I'm being made an Inquisitor! After only twelve years!" Roric tried his best to sound excited. He watched her expression. Her face smiled, but her eyes betrayed something. Pity? Contempt was more likely.

"Well then, we should celebrate!" she said with a lewd smile. She slipped out of the robe and let it fall to the ground.

"Precisely what I had in mind." Roric said with a wicked grin. He closed the door and locked it. The doors and walls were thick. Sound didn't travel through them well.

******

After he finished, he showered in her room, then dressed slowly. He took extra care that nothing got on his clothes. He cleaned his knife on Nikki's robe, staining it deep crimson. Roric smiled; the look on her face had been priceless when he'd slid the knife into her gut after they'd made love. She thought he had turned to get a cigarette. She'd died like a frightened animal and he gutted her like on as well.

The bloody message he'd left on the wall, not to mention the one in the bed, was an especially nice touch, one he'd be sure that the others would get. It would give them a warning, which was only fair. Despite their betrayal, they were still a little like family, and he couldn't begrudge them a head start. Besides, it would be more fun to chase them. He checked the time: it had taken ten minutes. He took her key, cranked the environmental control to as hot as it would go, and then stepped outside. He closed the door and locked from the outside. He snapped the key inside the lock and tossed away the broken piece. The smell would eventually get the others' attention, as would her curious absence over the next several days.

Roric strode to the command bridge with a smile on his face. Things were going according to plan so far, and for that Roric was happy. A part of him regretted what he had just done; he had liked her. Then again, she had betrayed him to a fate worse than death, and what he had wanted to do would make her death seem like a mercy. Roric put those thoughts out of his head as he arrived on the bridge. Ursain, Montrose, and Liam were all there watching the other ship make its final approach.

"Here it is boy, and in three days like I told you." Ursain said with a hearty laugh. "They'll be sending over a shuttle. We'll conduct the ceremony on their ship. Where's Nikki?" Ursain cast a curious glance at Roric. Roric put on a disarming smile.

"She's indisposed at the moment. She said she was feeling poorly and apologized for not being here. I didn't ask, but I'm sure it's just that time of the month."

"Hmph! Women." Ursain growled. He turned his gaze back towards the approaching ship. Roric breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The ship finally stopped, and the auspex chimed as it picked up a new contact: the shuttle. It hailed the _Hand _for docking coordinates and the pilot directed it to one of the cavernous landing bays.

"I have to make stop by the armory," Ursain said candidly. "I'll meet you in the landing bay." He motioned to Montrose and Liam who followed him out. Roric followed them out and headed toward the landing bays. It took all of Roric's control to keep smiling. His heart was thumping painfully inside his chest, and his hand shook as he lifted a cigarette to his mouth. He lit it and inhaled deeply, savoring the bitter taste and the familiar heat of the smoke. Roric took the cigarette from his mouth and scrutinized it. He thought back to the first one he had smoked, as a juve hiding in a closet. The taste had made him retch and cough. A janitor heard him and hauled him down to the disciplinary offices where he received a sound beating and a lecture about what a filthy habit it was. After that he had smoked at every chance he got, just to spite them. The other juves who smoked performed poorly in the athletic course, but it had never bothered him. Allison had hated it though; she had given him a solid left hook in the jaw when he lit up after one of their hurried "sessions". She had been one of his few fond memories of his younger days and then she had disappeared. That event carried blacker memories with it, and Roric tossed the cigarette away in disgust. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and continued his walk. His mood darkened and he turned his mind back to his immediate problem; avoiding a highly agonizing death.

******

Roric's footsteps echoed loudly as he entered the cavernous hangar bay. It was poorly lit, with a single beam of light shining down on the shuttle, and stygian darkness pressing in on it. The honor guard was standing rigidly at attention at the end of the loading ramp, their emotionless faces staring outward into the oblivion beyond the light. A small man in a black hooded robe waited amongst the guard. As Roric neared the shuttle, the guards' heels snapped together and they saluted crisply. Roric paid them no mind, his attention focused on the small dark figure.

"Cordial Greeting: Greetings m'lord," it rasped in a toneless voice. "This one is designated as Alpha, Zeta, Three, Twelve, Five, Five, serial number IS48934653948. This one has been tasked with the safe delivery of you and your esteemed colleagues to the _Inevitable Justice_." Roric took a half step away from the diminutive figure. He had seen what combat servitors were capable of and it was by no means a pretty sight.

"Speaking of my colleagues, where are they?" he asked.

"Statement: Inquisitor Ursain and his retinue have already boarded this vessel," cane the metallic reply. "They now await your arrival so that the shuttle may leave."

"Let's get this over with then." Roric stepped towards the loading ramp.

"Apologetic Statement: I am terribly sorry m'Lord, but you will not be riding with them. Query: Captain, if you would?" A hand grasped Roric's shoulder and spun him around. The last thing he saw was the butt of a rifle coming swiftly to meet his face, then the world faded to black.


	4. A Daemon in Human Skin

Daemon in Human Skin

"_You still asleep Roric?_" The voice ringed in his skull. Roric opened his eyes and groaned. It was pitch black, and icy cold. His head felt like it had been split, and his face felt like it was on fire. He tried to move his arms and found that they had been strapped down. His legs were similarly restrained, as was his head. He felt his heartbeat quicken.

"_Nakir, what the hell is going on?_"

"_Relax, I've been watching. Your on a table in a heavily warded room. There is an armed guard of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers outside the door on your left. I know you can't turn your head, just take my word for it. You've been out for about an hour and a half._"

"_When's the ritual or whatever it is they're going to do take place?"_

"_I'd say any minute now. They've been prepping you since they knocked you out."_

"_And you didn't stop them? You didn't take over my body like before?"_

"_What? And risk my chance freedom? Ha! Like the flaming Warp I would._ _Besides the situation is well under control. As soon as they remove the last seal on my prison, we can get this show on the road. Remember we want to go along with their little séance until we merge, and get your clothes back."_

"_My clothes?_"

"_Yes, they stripped of your clothing and equipment before they strapped you to the table._"

"I'm strapped to a table, helpless and naked. Wonderful." Roric sighed and strained to look around the room. As his eyes we beginning to adjust, a searing white light snapped on over head. Roric squinted into the bright light, unable to see anything, but unwilling to close eyes his again.

"The vessel has awoken. We may begin the binding." a voice intoned from somewhere to Roric's right. He strained to turn his head and see the speaker, but his head was firmly strapped to the table.

"Bring forth the prison." said another voice, this one coming from the direction of Roric's feet. There was a loud screech, as a poorly oiled door opened to Roric's left. Roric felt his ears begin to throb as something was moved into the room. The temperature dropped several more degrees and the overhead light began to flicker and dim. A haunting chant slowly filled the air. Despite his rising panic, Roric counted seven voices, one of which belonged to Ursain. Roric felt a black fury rise in his body.

"Ursain, you sack of shit! You better pray that you and I never see each other again. I will flay you alive you filthy whoreson!" Roric thrashed against his bindings. The bindings, he assumed they were leather, groaned, but held. Roric continued to shout.

"That goes for the other five of you as well! You think you can do this to people without consequences? You're going to pay for every second of this!"

"Silence!" It was Ursain. "We are doing the Emperor's work. If a handful must suffer for the good of the rest of us, so be it. Sacrifices must be made for the continued survival of humanity."

"Fuck you! You call yourselves human? You're no better than all the Chaos filth I've butchered. THAT was the Emperor's work."

"Ursain, silence him. This is difficult enough without the shouting." a wheezing voice said. Roric instantly felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. The pace of the chant quickened, and the throbbing in his ears intensified. The chanting rose to a wailing crescendo and Roric began to see arcs of red lightning shoot from what he assumed was Nakir's prison. He felt a presence as the object the Inquisitors had brought in was moved closer. Roric could see it now out of the corner of his eye; a beautifully wrought sarcophagus of gold, with a horned, leering skull worked into where the normal human face should have been. The wailing continued. Roric felt the hair all over his body rise, and his vision began to blur. All at once, the chanting ceased. He wondered if something had gone wrong, when a bolt of red lightning arced from the sarcophagus to his body. The pain was immediate, and excruciating. He felt his back arc off of the table and his limbs thrash in their restraints as the electricity overwhelmed his will to control them. He tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He felt his bowels go, and for a moment through the intense pain, thought it was absurdly funny. The lightning ceased and the pain slowly ebbed. Roric coughed and spewed dark blood into the air. As the pain faded into nothing, he felt very cold, but strangely peaceful. His vision began to fade to black.

_I'm dying... _

_This isn't so bad..._

_At least I killed one of them..._

_I want a cigarette..._

"Well that went smoother than I expected. Of course you weren't actively trying resist me, so I'm sure that made it easier. And no, you aren't dying." Nakir's voice sounded like it was coming from light-years away. "Get off the table; we've got business to conclude." Roric's eyes snapped open, and he took a deep shuddering breath. He sat upright and looked around. He was in a well lit, warm room. The room was completely white, and featureless, except for to large comfortable looking chairs, one of which was occupied. Roric couldn't see the figure, the chairs back was to him, but he knew that it was Nakir.

"Where am I?" He slid off of the table and tried to stand. He succeeded, but barely.

"Oh, you're still strapped to the table. This place is merely a product of your subconscious. Your brain is attempting to rationalize its current situation, and this is the best it could do given the circumstances." A gloved hand reached out from the figure in the chair and beckoned him over. "Come, I'd like to get this settled as soon as possible." Roric stumbled over to the other chair, and collapsed into it. Across from him was a formally dressed male, human-like being. Its ears were slightly elongated, but the only other feature that set it apart were the eyes, which were completely red.

"So you are Nakir?" Roric asked conversationally. "I must admit I was expecting you to look a bit more...daemonic." Nakir flashed a smile.

"This form suits my needs at present, but I can change if you like." Nakir rose from his chair. "What would you prefer? Horns? Cloven hooves? Wings?" As he spoke, he snapped his fingers and his features changed. "Personally I think the horns and hooves are a bit gaudy, but I do enjoy the wings." Nakir snapped his fingers a final time and he changed back to his original form, and as he sat down, he smiled widely. For the first time Roric noticed how incredibly pointed his teeth were. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

"I'm going to be blunt with you. I don't trust you a damned bit. The only reason I agreed to this was to avoid my own death. I never thought I'd sell my soul to a daemon to avoid it, but here we are." Roric glared at the thing across from him. "And that's another issue I have; you're a daemon. A being of concentrated evil. That's going to be a problem in the very near future."

"A valid point. I am, as you say a daemon, and I am also, as you say, evil," Now it was Nakir's turn to glare. "But let me remind you that evil is merely a point of view that you've adopted to make yourself feel less guilty. I've been inside your head. I've seen what you've done to your fellow humans. Men, women, children, you've shed their blood more times than you count, all without batting an eye. And for what? A rotting, nearly dead sack of flesh on a planet you've never even seen. You're worse than some of the cultists I've manipulated." Nakir saw Roric go red with rage at that. "That's not to say I'm any better. In fact, I'm far worse than anything you've ever seen or fought. If I hadn't just been recently released from a ten thousand year prison term, you'd be dead and I would be a thousand light years away, carving a bloody swathe through the galaxy that would make the Horus Heresy look like a juve fight in a playground."

"So why don't you? If you're so damn powerful." Roric sat there, hating the thing across from him, and loathing himself even more, knowing that he had to live with it. It was all true of course. He'd committed heinous crimes against his fellow man for no other reason than because he was told to commit them. What was worse was that he enjoyed it. He loved it. He loved to pull the trigger. He loved to see the fear in the eyes of his victims. He loved to use explosives. He loved to press the button that brought down buildings, crushing hundreds. Their screams sent chills of pleasure down his spine. He was a fiend, and he knew it.

"As much as I hate to admit it, I actually need you. Or more accurately your body. In any case, my power has largely atrophied from my many millennia inside that box, and in my current state I am extremely weak. I could still probably butcher an army barehanded, but there was a time when I could lay waste to planets. It will take me several centuries to get back to even half that strength. That is where you come in." Nakir disappeared from his chair, and reappeared behind Roric's in a poof of sulfurous smoke. He leaned in close to Roric's ear and his voice dropped to a whisper.

"Have you ever thought about your childhood? Not just your years in the Schola, but your early childhood?" He saw Roric tense.

"I can't even remember it." he said gruffly. Nakir smiled.

"Not a convincing lie in the slightest. Answer the question."

"Yes. Why does it matter?" Roric started to shift uncomfortably.

"You do recall the day your father left, don't you? It rained, did it not?"

"Yes."

"And when the courier brought you news of his death, it was raining?"

"Yes."

"What were his words? I know you remember them."

"It was raining, we couldn't tell."

"On the day your mother killed herself, it rained. Fascinating set of _coincidences_, isn't it. Of course, they seem like coincidences, until you consider your capabilities as a psyker." Nakir could hear the frantic pace of Roric's heart. "Isn't it incredible how such a small child could effect the universe? To bring about the deaths of his own parents, one of them thousands of light years away?"

"I didn't kill my parents." Even as he said it, Roric wasn't completely sure that he hadn't.

"Semantics. That's like saying gravity killed a man that was pushed off of a building. Gravity didn't kill him, it was the medium of his death. The pusher killed him. The same principle applies to you, Mr. Pusher."

"Bastard!" Roric leapt from his chair and turned to face his tormentor. Nakir stood there, completely impassive.

"Aren't I though?" Nakir sat in Roric's chair. "Be honest with yourself. You were furious at your father for leaving. That inward fury and grief caused an outward manifestation in the guise of rain. Humans have always equated rain with dark emotions. Your father swore when he left that'd he be home in two years, tops. The day arrives, and, lo and behold, he isn't there. Again, fury and grief. Again, rain. You kill him, in the rain. Do you begin to see the glaringly obvious pattern?"

"No!" Roric's head was buried in his hands.

"Very well. Your mother upon hearing the news, seeks solace in the bed of another man. That, coupled with the fact that she veritably _whored_ herself to most of the other men she knew, in your own home no less, pushed you just a little to far. You directed that fury and grief from your father's death onto your mother, and rather than deal with it, she opted to paint the inside of her head all over the ceiling. And don't tell me you weren't glad to see _justice_ done."

"Shut up!" Roric was on his knees, shuddering and weeping.

"Look at you now," Nakir appeared beside him, and crouched on his haunches. His voice was filled with condescending pity. "You look so similar to the boy from all those years ago, who sitting in bed wept and raged at the unfairness of the world, the hatred from his peers, the disdain of his tutors, but most of all, at the fact that his little bedroom plaything, was taken away from him by another man. Pathetic." Nakir began to laugh hysterically. The room began to dissolve into a red mist. Roric's heart pounded, and his head pulsed in tune with it. His lungs heaved and his blood boiled in his veins He threw his head back and roared. Nakir stood there and continued to laugh.

Roric woke up, drenched in sweat. He could still hear Nakir's laugh echoing in his skull. It was dark and cold. He could hear the sound of his breath rebounding off metal walls. He tried to move his arms and legs. They weren't restrained. He sat up, and his equilibrium wailed in protest. He ignored it and tried to stand. It felt like an eternity before he was on his feet. He vainly tried to perceive his surroundings, but the darkness was absolute.

"_Hmm, some illumination is in order I believe._" Nakir sounded vaguely annoyed. "_Snap your fingers."_ Roric obeyed without thinking. A red, glowing nimbus of light winked into existence. It cast a soft, crimson light onto the entire room. It was small, less than five feet across, and roughly twelve feet in length. Opposite to Roric was a door.

"_And there's our exit."_ Roric's body moved, seemingly independent of his will. After what seemed like an hour, he finally reached it. "_Let's make a little noise."_ Faster than what he thought possible, Roric's hands thrust themselves at the door. There was loud clang. Instead of crumpling against the thick steel, they had pierced it like it was paper. Roric's hands griped the metal, tore it away from the door. There was a horribly loud screech as he ripped it. He stepped out through his newly made exit into a dimly lit hallway. He heard the sound of many heavy boot steps coming towards him. At the end of the hall on his right, a large door was thrown open. Light spilled into the hallway, followed by a large number of soldiers bearing the mark of the Inquisition. Two carrying powermauls advanced on him. The rest formed a neat double rank, the front row kneeling, and the back standing over them. They aimed their las-guns at him, and there was a series of clicks as the safeties were switched off. The two soldiers with mauls had reached Roric by now, and made an effort to restrain him. One grabbed his left arm, while the other raised his maul, with intent to bring it down on his head. The world seemed to screech to a halt.

"_Here's your body back. Have fun._" Nakir chuckled, and Roric felt a shift in his mind. He suddenly became intensely aware of his surroundings. His senses magnified many hundreds of times over. He could hear every breath the soldiers took, every beat of their hearts, with absolute clarity. He could see their bodies, their uniforms, their faces down to the most minute detail. He could smell them, the stink of sweat, and unwashed bodies. He could smell something else in the air. Something he had caught only faint whiffs of before, and only then on the battlefield. Now he smelled it unmasked by other scents. Fear. He also noticed that it wasn't just his physical senses that increased. He felt a terrible, raging bloodlust inside him. Time seemed to resume its pace.

"Restrain him! The host cannot be allowed to escape!" the soldier gripping his arm shouted. Roric winced. His voice was painfully loud to Roric's ears.

"Shut...up." Roric grabbed the soldier with his free hand, and pushed him into the wall. There was a clang, and sickening _squelch_, as the soldiers body impacted the wall. His body continued to flatten, such was the force behind Roric's push. The smell of blood and viscera was almost overpowering The other soldier tried to strike Roric. The arc of the maul slowed to almost a halt as time stopped again.

Roric looked at the man's face. His mouth was open, showing a crooked row of yellow teeth, and his breath stank of cheap liquor. His eyes were black, beady little orbs. Roric shifted his gaze to the mess on the wall that used to be a man. The blood seemed frozen in the air. He marveled at his new strength. Roric looked back at the soldier with the maul. His swing had barely moved. With an almost casual shrug, Roric reached up and arrested the soldiers swing. He placed his left hand on the soldiers chest. With astounding ease, he ripped the soldiers arm off. He watched as the mans face turned into a mask of pain, and absolute horror. Roric made a blade with his hand and thrust with his left arm. His hand slid into the soldiers torso like water, and closed around his spine. He grabbed the soldiers shoulder with his right hand, and ripped him in half.

"Open fire!" barked a voice. To Roric, it seemed comically slow. The two halves of the soldier had yet to hit the ground. No matter how slow time moved, las-bolts still traveled at the speed of light, so he took the most prudent action. He moved, or more accurately, he ceased to be in his present location. To the soldiers it seemed as if their target had simply disappeared. And then reappeared behind them.

Roric decapitated the man closest to him with a swipe of his hand. He took his gun and emptied the clip into the backs of the men in front of him. Time marched forward once again. There was a double thump as the man he'd torn apart finally hit the ground.

"I'm out of my cell. Now what?" There was the sound of laughter in his head.

"_Your a smart man. Figure it out."_

"Indulge me then. I don't particularly feel like thinking now. I just want my vengeance."

There was an exasperated sigh. "_Fine. You are still on the ship, so the most effective course of action would be to take control of it. First get some clothes. Yours were most likely incinerated."_

"Right. Hopefully one of these corpses is my size. After clothes, I'm thinking armory, then bridge." Another laugh.

"_The armory won't be necessary. Just put some clothes on, and I'll teleport us to the bridge."_

"That's risky in such a confined space. Might wind up in a wall."

"_I'm a denizen of the Warp, remember? Don't worry about it._"

Roric hurriedly stripped the corpse that looked the most compatible. The uniform was riddled with holes and smeared with blood, but it was serviceable. Almost as an after thought, he took the soldier's combat knife. The bridge was likely heavily guarded, and while he had no doubt that he was perfectly capable of killing everyone on it bear handed, it always paid to have a knife handy.

"Done."

"_Good."_ The air around Roric began to crackle with energy. He felt the hair on his body stand up. There was deafening crack, and Roric was suddenly hurtling through the Empyrean. There was bright light everywhere, and human like shapes. Almost as suddenly as his journey had started, there was another deafening crack, and he found himself on the bridge of the ship.

There were a few startled gasps. He quickly took in his surroundings. There were four guards, a number of serfs, the captain, a woman who could have only been an inquisitor, and a Nobilis Navigator all staring in shock at him. The guards were just starting to level their weapons when Roric pounced. He dispatched them in a whirlwind of strikes. Before the corpses had hit the ground, Roric had moved to the captain. He plunged his knife into the screaming mans skull. The captain went limp and Roric heaved his body away. There was a loud _boom_. Roric turned toward the sound. The Inquisitor had managed to draw a bolt pistol. The bolt was flying straight at him, but with a speed that defied logic, Roric reached out and caught it. He turned and threw it at the Navigator, and watched with satisfaction as the creature was blown in half. Roric lunged at the Inquisitor and drove his knife into the breach of the bolt pistol. She dropped it and tried to draw a power sword, but Roric seized her arm and lifted her into the air. She tried to strike him with her free hand. Roric calmly grabbed her other arm and pinned her to the wall.

"_Hold her there for a moment. I need to know where the others are,_" Red lightning arced out of Roric's head and into the Inquisitor. She writhed in agony. The lightning quickly stopped. "_I've got what I need. We can dispose of her."_

Roric leaned in close to the struggling woman's face. He smiled as he whispered in her ear.

"You are the second woman I've killed today." He bit down on her neck, and ripped out her throat. He spit it on the floor, and watched with a smile as the life faded from the woman's eyes. There was hysterical laughter in his head.

"_You really are a daemon aren't you. A daemon in human skin. Who do you want kill next?_"

"I think you know who."


End file.
